Opening Day
by Animaltalker
Summary: Lennie takes his nephew, partner and a friend to opening day at the Mets.


It was the last week in March and the weather was improving enough to get Lennie to start thinking about baseball. It was true; it wasn't quite like it was when he was a kid. The heroes of baseball weren't quite as heroic as they use to be, they made too much money and their vices were far too apparent to the masses, but sometimes on a good day at a Mets game, with a couple of buddies at his side, it could be a piece of alright. For the next couple of evenings, Lennie spent his free time in various pool halls "hustling" unsuspecting marks out of enough cash to buy tickets for opening day from a group of guys he knew who had season tickets.

"So Ed, you got tomorrow off don't you?" Lennie asked at the end of shift.

"Yeah," Ed answered automatically, then added suspiciously, "You know I do, so why you asking?"

"Well, I got some tickets for opening day, wondering if maybe you wanted to come along?" Lennie said with a grin.

"You sly dog, you know I do!" he answered his grin threatening to split his face as he bumped a fist with Lennie. "So when do I show up and where?"

"Come on, buy me dinner and we'll talk about it, and none of that health food crap," he said as the left the bullpen.

That evening Lennie called around to a variety of old friends and ex-partners looking for takers for the other two tickets he had, but on such short notice most people he called either couldn't go or already had plans. Finally, he ended up making a couple of phone calls he hadn't planned on making; he sure hoped his partner was a flexible sort of guy.

Lennie had agreed with Ed to met at Jackson's diner, an Indian restaurant in Queens near the subway. He'd told the rest of their part to meet them there too. They'd have lunch and then head over to Shea Stadium.

"Hey Lennie, don't you look cool" Ed said when he spotted Lennie. Lennie was wearing a black patterned shirt, jeans, penny loafers and his bomber jacket, and his hair was combed in a more casual style. "So who we waiting for?"

"My nephew Kenny and Rodgers," Lennie answered.

"Rodgers?" Ed asked a bit startled.

"Yeah, well I kind of waited until the last minute to ask and most people either couldn't get off or had other plans, but she was available and thought it sounded like fun," Lennie answered.

"So, me and your nephew Kenny are tagging along on a date with you and Rodgers?" Ed asked in disbelief.

"No, Rodgers and I aren't that way, we're just friends," Lennie answered.

"Uh uh, sure," Ed answered. "Oh, heads up here comes your friend and Kenny."

While Ed and Kenny were both wearing traditional blue jeans and light colored polo shirts and had jackets with them in case it got cold, Rodgers was wearing black jeans and a Mets T-shirt that was just barely big enough through the bust. Lennie swallowed hard and reminded himself that Elizabeth Rodgers was one of the many intelligent women he worked with routinely, and was definitely not what she looked like at the moment.

They ordered lunch and had a great time, other than the awkward moment when the server assumed that Kenny was Lennie's son and Rodgers was his wife.

"You know seeing as how the waiter thought Kenny was my son," Lennie began as they walked toward the stadium.

"Hey you can't tell me that's never happened before," Ed interrupted.

"Yeah, the only times it's really embarrassing, is when my brother happens to be right there at the table too," Lennie replied and Kenny nodded his head and laughed.

"Anyhow, as I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted," Lennie continued, mock glaring at Ed, "Since the waiter thought Kenny was my kid and he thought Rodgers here was my wife," Lennie said gesturing to the pretty redhead on his right, "I was kind of wondering who he thought you were, my 2nd cousin once removed?"

The quartet of friends dissolved in laughter.

"Better that than your kissing cousin," Ed said.

"You come here and I'll give you a kiss, you," Lennie teased back.

The friendly banter continued on until they reached the stadium. Lennie shelled out for programs and then pulled the four tickets from his pockets. When they found their seats, which were about 15 rows up behind third base, they were amazed.

"Uncle Lennie, these seats are incredible. They most have set you back a ton of money," Kenny said, worrying about his Uncle's finances, as he knew better than his companions what financial obligations Lennie Briscoe had.

"Ah, don't worry Kenny, most of the money came from fools who thought they could beat me at pool," Lennie said explaining how he'd financed their excursion.

"Lennie," Ed drew out his partner's name, in that way he had that made it sound like he was scolding a puppy.

Rodgers smiled. "Frankly I like the idea that our day out is being financed by your pool sharking skills. I'm only disappointed that I didn't get to watch you hustle the fools."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Lennie said.

"Only one?" she responded.

Ed looked at Kenny. "I don't know about you, but I feel like a fifth wheel," he said.

"Don't worry, he'll forget she's a girl once the game starts. Let's go get some food and some drinks," Kenny suggested.

"We just came from having lunch," Ed said.

"Yeah, but that was like a half hour ago and besides we're at the ball park. What's a ball game without hot dogs and peanuts and cracker jacks and some nachos?" Kenny asked.

"You're absolutely sure he's your uncle? There's no like deep dark family secret or nothing about him sleeping with your Momma?" Ed asked Kenny jokingly.

Kenny just grinned and hauled Ed along with him to the concession stand. As they were leaving Lennie and Rodgers yelled their orders at them.

Ed and Kenny had no more than gotten back with the food and drinks, and passed things around when it was time for the national anthem. They all stood and sang, though in truth Rodgers was a bit mesmerized by the sound of the voices of the men she was with, each of them had an exceptional voice, and as they began singing together, they noticed the others sound and instinctively harmonized the anthem.

"Wow you three ought to record together," she exclaimed.

The three guys all just looked embarrassed so she let it drop.

"What are you doing?" Rodgers asked Lennie, as she watched him writing down the players' names and some letters after their names as they were being announced.

"Huh, oh getting ready to keep score," Lennie explained.

"How's that work?" she asked, not sure if she was really curious or if she just wanted to keep him talking to her.

"Well there're different methods. My Uncle Harry taught me one that sort of keeps track of each play, some people keep track of each pitch, but that's too much for me. See, there are a lot of different things can happen, when a guy comes to the plate. Like for instance, did you know there are 7 different ways to get to first base safely?" Lennie stopped in his explanation a moment.

"Seven?" Ed repeated.

"Yeah, a guy can get a hit, which I'd show by drawing a diagonal line, like he'd run from home plate to first base. He can get on base if the pitcher throws 4 balls, then I'd draw the line and then write BB. He can get hit by a pitch; I draw the line and write HP. He could be intentionally walked that's an IW. There could be a fielder's choice that's FC. He could strike out swinging but be safe when the catcher drops the ball. There could be an error that's E dash and then number of the position that made the error," Lennie finished his explanation.

"What if he doesn't get on safely," Rodgers asked.

"You mean like just happened to that guy?" Lennie asked her.

"Uh huh," she said and nodded slightly.

"A strike is recorded as a K and don't ask me why I don't know," Lennie answered.

"Uh, Lennie are you dyslexic or something?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, a little annoyed as he was trying to pay attention to the game now.

"You wrote the K backwards," she said.

"Oh that's cause he struck out looking, if he struck out swinging it's a regular K."

"OK, one more questions and I promise I'll shut up and let you enjoy the game in peace," she said.

"You aren't bugging me Rodgers, go ahead and ask," he said lying just a little bit.

"Why are you keeping score like this, why not just watch the game and enjoy it?"

"I am enjoying the game. You see when I was a kid, my Uncle Harry would bring me to the ball games; the first games I remember seeing were the Brooklyn Dodgers. Uncle Harry taught me to keep score, and it made me understand the game more, appreciate it more. When I keep score, I feel close to him, even though he's been gone for a long time," he answered.

"Maybe you should teach Kenny how to keep score?" she suggested.

"Oh I did long time ago. OF course he doesn't need to keep score when he's watching the game, not yet. You see, he's still got me right here with him at the game," he answered.

_A/N The method of score keeping mentioned is one my Mom taught me. She is a big baseball fan. She kept the box score for every World Series game from 1947 until her stroke a few years ago. The first World Series she was able to record because she was a nurse at Sloan Kettering (yes the same hospital were Jerry Orbach died). They had a TV in the solarium and when she had to attend to her duties the patients would keep score for her. One of her duties was caring for Babe Ruth, because of her excellent care for him when he was dying of throat cancer, and her love for baseball, he gave her a large portrait of him hitting his record home run. I grew up with that picture guarding over me._


End file.
